Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind: Clash Of Worlds
by OnkelJo
Summary: After settling into my new life in the Castleverse, I thought I could catch my breath. I rarely was so wrong. I have to work with unexpected allies who shouldn't even be here to stop the world we know from unraveling. Just my luck, eh? Castle Winter Hiatus 2014 Ficathon Entry. Castle/Chuck/Eureka. Humorous Self Insert (SI) with actual plot ;) Cover Art by the lovely @dtrekker :)
1. Old Friends

**Welcome to the second installment of "Close Encounters Of the Fourth Kind"! I'm glad you found your way here :)**

**If you didn't read CE4, I don't blame you. It was certainly not everyone's cup of coffee. And more than a little on the crackfic side. But it was a fun ride, if I may say so. You should definitely go read it. It's only just a bit over 30,000 words long (according to FFnet *cough*) :D**

**For those of you who have read it but whose memories are a bit sketchy on the details, I'll let Jonny do a little refresher ;)**

**This will be a crossover with the tv shows "Chuck" and "Eureka". Considering the nature of these shows (two amazing shows who are perfect for binge watching), you can imagine this story will dive into the depths of science fiction and AUs ;)**

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><p><strong>Revised word count (chapter): 2626 words<strong>

**Revised word count (total): 2626 words**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Old Friends<strong>

Oh man... what a trip. Jonny Gerthson, world's savior extraordinaire...

Oh, hey there! Didn't see you until now. Hah, you wouldn't believe what I lived through if I told you... actually, that idea isn't half bad, now that I think of. It's worth a shot, anyway. Couldn't hurt, right?

Some of you may know me already, but I'd like to take a minute to introduce myself properly before I tell you my story.

My name is Jonny Gerthson, and I'm twenty one years old. Wait, actually I'm sixteen... or was it the other way around? Never mind, I always confuse those two. I'll get to me having two ages later. Not much about me makes sense these days, anyway. It has been well over a year since I went from four semesters of IT to spy business in about half a week. I shrank an inch. I exchanged my happy family for two supervisors who hate each other's guts.

Want to know how my life went FUBAR?...

Too bad, I'll tell you anyway.

Over a year ago, I met an alien presence I had believed to be fictional until that fateful night. _Which_ alien presence, you may ask? If you have played the Half-Life series, you may know him as the G-Man. He's a bit of a bore, and his speech cadence may grate on your nerves... but honestly? He just has a shitty personality.

According to astronomer and UFO researcher J. Allen Hynek, such "close encounters" can be classified into three levels, which are arranged according to increasing proximity.

A CE1 is a simple UFO sighting within five hundred feet; nothing spectacular yet. A CE2 means the aliens have a physical effect. Car engines dying, animals panicking, that sort of thing. A CE3 is where you actually see the alien and not just his UFO. Remember that movie, "Close Encounters Of The Third Kind"? Yeah. Guess where its name comes from.

However, there are more levels to it than are originally included in Hynek's scale. My abduction by the G-Man would be considered a Close Encounter Of The Fourth Kind.

But it didn't suffice that he just abducted me, which is really bad on its own already, no... he saw it fit to dump me into another reality with some abstruse mission I still have no idea what it's about.

Also, I'm back in my pre-growth-spurt, fifteen year old, five feet seven tall body. Which sucks.

But to give credit where credit is due, the G-Man has actually made an effort to make our "arrangement" more "agreeable". It boils down to bribery, really.

For starters, I landed in the Castle Universe, which is pretty awesome in my books. Then I got an Intersect, a supercomputer imprinted directly into my brain via coded images, filled to the brim with information and skills (even dancing). I mean, how cool is that? Well, aside from the fear of possible side effects like paranoia, schizophrenia and potential brain cooking, but still. Then I was made a secret agent. Without government ties, so to the untrained eye, I may seem like a criminal... which, FYI, I am _not_. I just happen to stumble into bad situations where violence is unavoidable, okay. How is that my fault?

Oh-kay, that sounded better in my head. Moving on. Oh yeah, I'm stupid rich, by the way. Another perk of working for a secret alien organization. Sadly, the snarky butler ("Barrymore" - who calls himself that nowadays?) who likes calling me 'moron' is also part of the package.

Now that I'm done bragging about how awesome my fake life in a different reality is, I should tell you what has happened in the meantime.

I was only a few days in this new reality when I had to stop a terrorist from blowing up Castle's book release party (where I made friends with Alexis Castle, coincidentally).

After I caught the guy, my butler butchered the job, quite literally, by accidentally blowing up the terrorist instead of leaving him for the FBI to find.

Of course, everything went spiraling downwards after that. The case became political, the DA wanted me behind bars for a murder I didn't commit, and Kate Beckett saw me as a criminal. I lied through my teeth and pretended to have an information network and swindled my way to a position as informant (and unofficial guardian angel for Beckett, courtesy of Captain Montgomery), with my first point on the agenda being "bring down your own butler" - an action sanctioned by my alien bosses.

Remind me not to get cross with them.

After a ridiculous hunt through New York City with Beckett and company, and an unfriendly video sent to the police claiming responsibility, it all ended in a seedy warehouse rigged to blow with a shootout between Team Caskett (consisting of Beckett, Castle, Esposito, Ryan, and yours truly)and a brainwashed SWAT team, followed by a duel (with _real swords_) between Barry and me.

I won.

Then everything calmed down a little, and I even fancied the thought that I can finally settle into my new life at peace.

Ah, youthful greenness.

Barry pulled a Coulson and came back from the dead. He returned to my side, even after having received his punishment at my hands (read: my sword in his chest), posing as my uncle - now under the name Andrew.

Talk about karma.

However, he's not alone. Thankfully. The uncle needs the aunt, doesn't he? Therefore, a lovely gal from the secret alien organization's Internal Affairs division named Cassandra has been assigned to me, too. She was the one who interrogated me when they looked into why the terrorist mission went south - and the one who put me in the hospital back then. Here's hoping she will keep Barry in check.

After helping Alexis with a "small problem" of hers on her prom night, and her father with a "related problem" afterwards, he invited me to one of his charity galas as a thank you gift. Of course I said yes.

And now you're up to speed! Perfect! Now, let's start with my newest adventure, shall we?

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><p><em>The day of the charity gala, 1403 hours, Casa Gerthson  McRiosca_

_The training room is still mostly dark. What little light comes through the windows is just enough to let me see where the next metal rung is, but barely anything else. Although, with the darker than normal shade the bulletproof glass always has and the bad storm outside, it's no wonder the room isn't exactly well lit, even at two in the afternoon._

_Clank!... Clank!... Clank!_

"_Would you please stop showing off, Jonny? I can't even look at you doing all those salmon chin-ups."_

Hanging from the long bar, I twist my head to look at the voice came from, only to see Andy standing in the door frame. "Why's that, old man? Just because your body can't hold up with that?" I ask with a grin.

My surrogate uncle lets out a disgusted noise while i climb down from the salmon ladder. "No, moron. Because you're going to a charity gala this evening and you have to get ready soon."

I raise my eyebrow at that. "It's 2 PM, Andy. I have, like, five hours before the thing starts. I think I can manage a little workout."

Of course, he's not so sure of that and crosses his arms. "Really? Tux, limo, shower, everything planned? Knowing you, I seriously doubt that."

I grab a towel from the stack and wipe up the sweat. "No, not exactly. But hey, this is important, too, right? What if I have to stop a target and I am out of breath because I didn't work out?"

Andy only snorts at that as he turns to leave. "Right, this has absolutely nothing to do with Castle's cute daughter. Speaking of which, what if you had to save the day this evening and you couldn't because you were too tired from your little workout? What would Alexis think?"

"That's so not fair to bring her into that! I only took her to Laser-Tag as a friend!" I yell after him. At least he doesn't see my face grow red, I don't need to give him further ammunition.

I hear him snickering in the corridor. "Sure, lad, whatever you say. Now shower, you need it!" Guess he doesn't need to see my face, after all.

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><p>A short, cold shower and a change of clothes later I step into the kitchen to the view of Cassandra... eh, I mean, Zoe, cooking.<p>

"Well, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing you in the kitchen," I tell her.

She throws a mock glare over her shoulder. "This is actually for your cover, kid."

I snicker as I pull a dish out of the drawer. "Sure. Your secret's safe with me."

"By the way, Andy will drive you."

I stop in my tracks, and the dish clatters onto the counter top. "Are you saying that to scare me? Because if so, good job, nice use of terror. Considering what has happened the last time he drove me to a party of Castle's, you'll understand that I'm _really_ hesitant about that. Call me superstitious."

She waves me away and doesn't even turn around. "You're superstitious. You have nothing to worry about, everything will be fine."

Of course, that's exactly when a smurf-blue lightning decides to hit outside the window, the thunder reverberating from the kitchen walls.

Slackjawed, I stare out of the window and point outside rather dumbly. "That's... a rather vivid warning not to tempt fate like that."

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><p><em>The day of the charity gala, 1754 hours, at the charity gala<em>

_The limo comes to a halt at the red carpet, and I can see Andy spotting a bemused smile as I struggle to put the finishing touches to my fly._

"So... before I go, any last tranquilizers to safely stow away? Because I really don't want a rerun of last time," I quip from the backseat.

Andy gives me a dark look through the back mirror. "No, not really," he tells me casually, "but a variation of what I used on that SWAT team a while ago... You want some?"

It takes me about four seconds before I stand outside the car. "Nope, thank you. I'm good," I press through a forced smile I put up for the photographers, just in case one of them gets the idea to take notice of the young boy who's standing on the red carpet. It wouldn't do to scowl on page six, now would it?

Dodging two nosy reporters who remotely look like they could be interested in talking to me, I make my way to the bouncers who check my invitation to their list and then wave me through.

I'm a little bit early, but the ball room is already well filled, despite it being the biggest room I've ever been in. It could probably host that famous waltz gala in Vienna. If it were in Vienna, that is. I think it's a theater or something? It must be, it even has those fancy loges at the sides.

Sometimes, not being tall has its advantages in certain situations. For example, if you want to blend in with the masses, or when people shoot at you. Looking for someone in a crowd, however, is _not_ one of those situations.

I'm standing on my toes to look for Castle, but I can't find him. Considering that he's the host of the evening, however, it's probably not a bad guess that he would be at the center of the attention. Said and done, I force myself through the thickest knots of people I can find, muttering excuses left and right.

At least I don't knock over any champagne flutes.

After I probably have incurred the wrath of half of New York's High Society, I hear Castle's trademark laugh, and moments later, a familiar shock of hair stands out.

"Glad you could make it, Jonny," Castle greets me with a smile as I push through the last group of people.

I grin back at the author. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. So, are all your charity events that crowded?"

That elicits a chuckle from him. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

I look around, but something's missing... "Where's Alexis? I thought she'd be here, too."

Castle's chuckle dies in his throat. "She's in the restrooms, but she should be here again soon. Say, what's up with you and Alexis?"

I'd say we're good friends, at least since the disaster known as Owen's prom... but I don't think it's wise to tell a father that you're 'good friends' with his daughter. It often turns out to be... unhealthy.

"We're... friends. Don't worry, my intention's aren't any less noble than yours with Beckett," I quip and let a smirk show on my face. Probably not the best time to joke, but when did that ever stop me?

"That's what I'm afraid of," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, although I don't think it was intentional.

"No need to go all 'Papa Bear' on him, dad," a voice laughs from behind his back. "If I recall correctly, him being a friend for me and being there for me was what made you invite him in the first place, right?"

Alexis makes a sidestep and emerges from behind her dad. Then she pulls me into a hug.

Huh. That's a switch. I'm definitely not used to being hugged. It's not too bad, though.

"I'm glad you came tonight. It's the least we could do to thank you," she says with a smile.

I wave her away while I feel my cheeks heat up, and for once, it's not because of an innuendo.

"You know that's not true. I only did what a friend would do."

She gives me a disapproving look, but stays silent on the topic for now. Instead, her dad pipes up. "I thought you'd bring your aunt and uncle with you. I was looking forward to finally meet them."

I snort at that. "Yeah, well, they're a tad too paranoid for that. Open rooms and big crowds, that's a 'safety-conscious citizen's nightmare'. But I'm sure we can invite the three of you over for dinner sometime. I'd even make my infamous onion tart, and my uncle should be able to get his hands on a few bottles of 'Federweisser'."

Alexis raises an eyebrow at that. "I didn't know you can cook."

I smirk. "Technically, it's baking, but yes, I've been doing it for a while now."

However, before she can retort, a shot is fired into the ceiling, and I pull both Castle and Alexis down to the floor in a knee-jerk reaction.

I turn my head to scan the room for the source. Thankfully, we're not the only ones who had the idea to get on the floor, so I can actually see stuff. I count sixteen guys, dressed in black and with black ski masks on, standing in the entrance.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the one in the front yells, "today's entertainment is brought to you by random acts of violence! In the spirit of the cause of this evening's get-together, we kindly ask you to 'donate' your wallets, jewelries and other valuables. Much obliged, you're all very generous!"

I slowly push us further away from them, towards the wall. Once we're finally there, I start softly banging my head against the cool marble.

"Damn you, Zoe! Why did you have to tempt fate? One party, that's all I want. A single frakkin' party without guns or bombs, is that too much to ask for?"

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><p><strong>Yes. Yes, it is. <strong>

**Reviews are welcome :)**


	2. Well, well, what have we here?

** seems to really muck up the word counts...**

**Revised word count (chapter): 2680 words**

**Revised word count (total): 5306 words**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Well, well, what have we here?<br>**

The robbers work quick and efficiently. There are countless hostages in here, and they have robbed most of us in less than ten minutes of any cash we had and all the jewelry.

Everything about this screams bad news. Well, an armed robbery slash hostage situation is always bad news, but this...

Alexis is wrapped in her father's arms. He tries to soothe her, but she's still silently sobbing into his dress shirt.

"Who are these guys?" Castle whispers to me.

I glare darkly at the masked men patrolling the hostages, but they either don't notice me or don't see me as a threat because I'm a teenager.

"I don't know who they are, but this isn't a mere robbery," I whisper back.

Alexis stares at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean, this isn't a robbery?"

"If these guys were only after money and jewelry, they could have left already. Neither have they killed anyone, nor have they rounded up a special group of people. Yet they stay. They have to be after something different."

A familiar almost-sneeze announces the arrival of a flash as one of the robbers walks by, showing images of weapons designs stamped top secret, still in development. "They have to have some very influential friends," I explain in a low voice and nod in their direction. "These MP they are wielding are military-grade. Not available for civilians, and most likely not even on the black market."

Castle's knuckles get white, and he swallows hard. "Then what can we do?"

"_We? _nothing," I tell him with a forced smile. "_You _stay here. I go rough them up a bit and find out what they're after."

"I can't let you go alone, Jonny," he pleads, but I just shake my head.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but... you have a daughter to take care of. You've seen me in action, Castle; You know what I am capable of. We have a better chance at getting out of here alive if I don't have to worry about you or Alexis catching a bullet."

He concedes defeat wordlessly, the imminent danger to his daughter probably has made him see reason. He nods me towards the corridor that's about ten feet away and clutches Alexis to his chest even tighter, whispering soothing words into her hair. I slowly slide back, inch by inch, my eyes trained on the bad guy who's patrolling in our section. Thankfully, there's a commotion on the other side of the room at the loges, so our baddie turns around to see what's going on.

Once he turns back around again, I'm long gone and hidden behind a pillar in the corridor, with no fear, no weapon, and no plan.

Meh. Most plans don't survive first contact anyway.

I peek around the pillar, and just my luck, there's another guy with a ski mask and a gun. At least he has his back to me, so I'm not _completely _screwed. Then he turns around and I pull my head back behind the pillar. Thankfully, he doesn't give a damn about making noise - and why should he, really? - so I can make a rather accurate guesstimate how far away he is. Five feet... four feet...

_Now!_

I round the pillar and sprint the three feet that separate us. The guy is understandably surprised that anyone has the gall to actually fight back, and more so, not in the main room (which would be suicide), but out here.

The _nerve_ of some people, right?

He tries to get his MP up, but he isn't fast enough. Also, he's even more surprised that I don't run at him directly but aim slightly to the side of him. His curiosity is sated when I clothesline him. That doesn't work so well if you run at someone head on. I go to the ground with him to keep him down. He struggles, even though the wind is knocked out of him, but that's expected. I keep up the pressure at his throat to make him stop fidgeting around. I'm not keen on killing him, but I also don't want him getting up again soon and shooting me in the back. That'd be... suboptimal.

I wonder if Barry/Andrew knew what I would get into, or if he just assumed I had a knack for getting into bad situations? We've been training for about a year now, and it's been a sobering experience to train with Barry. Andrew. Whatever. It was hard and taxing, even with the help of the Intersect, but right now, I'm considering sending him a fruit basket as a thank you gift.

Should I feel bad about what I'm about to do to him? Probably. _Do_ I feel bad? Nah. Perhaps if he didn't try to wave a gun in my face, I'd think differently, but right now, I've got bigger problems than reflecting about whether or not it is adequate to break both his index fingers.

Little fun fact that you'll see at least once a year in a TV show: Never break the thumbs of your enemy. That way, they can escape handcuffs, although it does hurt pretty bad. Thus, I'll break his index fingers. At least he won't be able to shoot anything without his usual trigger finger.

I ram my elbow into his temple to knock him out. He'll feel the pain soon enough, he doesn't have to be conscious for when it's inflicted.

I make short work of his phalanges, and with two wet snaps, his index fingers are hanging around loosely. I wince at the sound. This could take a while to heal.

Then I take stock of the few belongings he has on his body. One ski mask, sweaty. One walkie-talkie, mostly intact. One silenced machine pistol, full magazine. No ID. Figures.

I doubt he will wake up before this is all over anyway, but taking precautions is _really _engrained into my brain. Thanks to Andrew, who else? Now what can I use for that?... Ah, this curtain certainly doesn't need the thick rope that ties it together.

Instead, only a couple moments later, it adorns my unconscious f(r)iend's hands, festively tied up, even though it's not even December.

I have no use for the radio, and wearing a sweaty ski mask hasn't made it on my bucket list for a good reason. The gun, however... well, let's just say the Intersect can help me put it to good use.

I smash the radio under my heel (wouldn't want him to call his friends, now would we?) and leave it with everything else but the gun with the guy. Closing my eyes, I try to remember the layout of the building. Sadly, blueprints are not implemented in the Intersect. Yet. Note to self: talk with the G-Man about that. They would surely come in handy sometime.

The details are a bit sketchy, but if I recall correctly, there's a walkway with a balustrade from where I would be able to overlook the whole hall. If I really am to have a chance at taking these guys out, I need information, desperately. Or backup, but who would risk their hide among the upper ten thousand in a hostage situation, unarmed at that? Since that is out of the window, I make my way to the stairs. and silently thank the architects that they didn't build usual staircases. The stairs are fully integrated in the building design, and more importantly, clad with thick, dark red carpet. Which means, I may be able to move silently. Ever tried walking silent on marble? Good luck with that.

I stay on the carpet as I climb the last stairs. I turn around the corner, and with a loud _thwack, _a guy with gun and ski mask bumps into me. We stare at each other dumbly for a second. Then he looks down on me and sees the gun. One of _their _guns, at that. Then he looks me in the face again. His eyes widen, then narrow. All of that has taken about half a second, at most.

He tries to bring up the gun to line up for a shot, but I know that's not the best idea in close quarters. With all the high tech he has, it does him no good: I drop the MP to pull him down to my height, and what looks like the first moments of a violent, explosive kiss turns out to be a headbutt. A solid one, if I may say so.

I get him square in the nose, and it starts gushing blood. Quite messy. Don't know if he's dead, but considering the force I've brought his head down on mine (it does hurt a little), death isn't as far-fetched as I would've liked.

I may have little to no qualms to hurt people in self-defense, but I wouldn't kill just for the thrill of it. It's the truth, even though it rhymed. I don't think I'm a sociopath, but the 'rigorous training' Andy makes me do regularly _does_ tend to leave such tendencies behind.

Don't get me wrong, despite all the shit he's been giving me, Andy has turned out to be quite helpful. Without his training, I'd be probably dead by now. And I like living, thank you very much.

But I could do without having to think about the quickest way to kill all the people in a room the moment I enter it. Compulsory threat assessment is a real pain in my behind. Guess you can't argue with the results, though.

Speaking of which, my spy senses are tingling right now...

_Crack!_

The second I jump to the side, a shot goes off. It's silenced, so it's more like a wet cough instead of a loud noise, but I must say, I can't recommend being shot, anyway. Not being shot _at_, either. But mainly being shot.

As in, my stomach's protesting quite loudly at the sudden impact.

As in, I'm shot.

Shit.

My vision's slightly blurred, but that's not so bad; it's not worse than not wearing my glasses or my contacts. Can't really tell if that's because my sudden movement made my lenses pop out or my eyes are brimming with tears.

I opt for the former, because that'd be less embarrassing. Not that I'd care. I look at the other side of the walkway to where the shot came from, but the guy who shot me goes down himself. I risk a sideways glance to where my freshly acquired gun is lying. Huh. Wasn't me, apparently.

Looking back up, three figures come down the walkway, and they don't wear ski masks. Also, they shot the guy who shot me. I really hope they're the good guys.

Now that others are here, my job is done here. A nap sounds great right now; I'll close my eyes, just for a minute.

An appreciative grunt, slightly amused, tears me away from sweet slumber. "Huh. Didn't think one of the moneybags downstairs had the guts to stand up to these buggers. Too bad he caught a bullet for his efforts."

I slowly open my left eye, because I don't trust my ears: That grunt sounds familiar. A stony face greets me. Strong jaw. Neat, brown hair. Nose previously broken. I know this man.

Gaze to the left. Blonde bombshell. Hair held together in a ponytail. Piercing blue eyes. More than a pretty face, apparently. Cute frown. I know this woman.

Gaze to the right. Lanky guy. Dark brown, unruly hair. Chocolate eyes. Slightly panicked expression. I know this nerd.

Great. Now I have three top spies from the Chuck Universe here. I'm... something bad that rhymes with "shrewd".

Relaxing a bit, I open the right eye, too. "Not quite gone yet," I mumble and start coughing. Labored breath. Not good. Not as bad as "Chuck" in the Castle Universe, but... pretty bad.

"Well, will you look at that. Tougher than he looks. Also, not as pudgy as the rest. Though that doesn't have to mean much, heh, Bartowski?" 'tough guy' snorts.

"I'm working out, okay? It's hereditary, Casey."

"Will you two shut up already? You're talking as if he isn't here! He needs medical attention," miss Walker says.

Now that I'm not alone anymore, I take the time to look down my chest and open up my tux jacket. Bullet hasn't penetrated farther than the dress shirt, which is odd. Can't remember wearing a bulletproof vest under it. Wouldn't have been a bad idea, though. A closer look at the entry point makes me wanna sneeze (read: flash). I close my eyes to hide it, no need to tell the original Intersect host and the secret agents who are tasked with protecting him that I have an Intersect on my own. That could prove to be... unhealthy.

What my flash told me is everything but unhealthy though. Apparently Andy and Zoe didn't trust me not to get into trouble, because the dress shirt is made of spider silk. Anything that can, if scaled up accordingly, stop a _jumbo jet in mid-flight _is good enough for a bulletproof vest. Just saying.

"So you're the relief force? It was about damn time, Chuck," I mumble sleepily. "Also, does anyone have a paracetamol or something? My chest is killing me," I groan.

All three start staring at me. One panicked, one furious, one ice cold.

I stare back with a questioning look on my face. "What? Is it forbidden to take a painkiller, all of a sudden?"

Before I know it, Sarah Walker has me backed against the wall and presses a knife at my throat. "How do you know that name?" she hisses.

_Shit. Me and my loose mouth again._

My Adam's apple draws a little trickle of blood as it bobs nervously. Time for some well-placed half truths. "How hard do you think it would be to find out about Carmichael's true identity?" I ask back; my voice is hoarse, but should hold a while longer. I wonder what evil organization they're after at the moment, but unfortunately, the Intersect didn't anticipate the Chuck Universe "bleeding through", "colliding", whatever... thankfully, I watched the show diligently, so I should be up to snuff anyway.

"And before anyone of you wonder, no, I'm not part of 'the Ring', and I don't intend to ever sell him out." I hope I got the right one. "I'm merely a semi-retired information broker that continued the work of his predecessor on Team Bartowski. I didn't even get to see any confidential material and I found out, by deduction alone. Now, I'd really love to play twenty questions with you guys, but I got friends down there, and if you hadn't noticed yet, there are still bad guys around. I'll happily place myself in your custody and help you stuff that hole after we finished these bastards off."

I raise my eyebrows at the three and try my best not to draw anymore blood. "So, how about we make an alliance for the time being? We take the bad guys out together, I can make sure my friends are okay, and I accompany you peacefully and voluntarily."

A grunt from Colonel Casey gives me hope that they'll actually buy it. If you don't know John Casey, you might think all his grunts are the same. But alas, that is not the case.

Heh, case. Casey, case? No? Well, I still think it's funny.

Anyway, he has a surprisingly broad range of grunts and growls that can convey a large variety of moods, emotions and reactions. This one consists of part anger, part grudging respect and a pinch of surprise. I think. There is no "English - Casey, Casey - English" dictionary.

A silent conversation goes on between the three for a short while, and to my surprise, they take me up on my offer.

Well, looks like I'm going hunting with Team Bartowski.

And a bruised rib.


	3. Tread Lightly, Fool

**Despite what you might think, a rather dialogue heavy chapter ;D Castle Ficathon is more than halfway through, and so am I (not with the story, of course, but with the word count :D).**

**Also, a beautiful idea came to my attention on tumblr (feel free to adapt this to your liking to FFnet, via DM etc): "****Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I've written, and stick that selection in my ask/fan mail. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary track."**

**The first ask that reached me turned into a hilarious philosophical treasure trove, and it was determined that I'm adorable. Or rather, Jonny Gerthson is. Speaking of the (adorable) devil, here's the next chapter!**

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><p><strong>Revised word count (chapter): 3098 words<strong>

**Revised word count (total): 8404 words**

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><p><strong>Chapter three: Tread Lightly, Fool<strong>

We retreat back into the corridor Team Bartowski came from. I still can't wrap my head around them being here. Quite frankly, they shouldn't exist in this Universe. If I recall correctly, G-Man _specifically _mentioned that the Intersect glasses had been created in _another _universe.

Andy and Zoe will have a field day when they find out.

Until then, I'll try to stay alive for the time being and enjoy the time I have left.

Casey wordlessly opens his backpack and throws me a pack of paracetamol, the strong ones. I pop one right in and take a swig from the water bottle he hands me to wash it down.

"Thanks, Colonel... oh, come on, how could you think your military rank would stay a secret after I found out about the very existence of your team?" I add with an eye roll when I'm met with a surprised glare.

I'm cockier than advisable. _Especially _injured. "Anyway, that's a discussion for another occasion. I've taken two out on my side, and fifteen of those masked freaks in total came in through the front entrance; can't tell how many are hidden among the guests. How many have you got?" I ask Casey.

Chuck may be the original Intersect and Sarah surely is a brilliant agent, but in cases of violent emergencies of this sort, you do good to go to the former NSA BlackOps member.

My decision to defer to Casey as 'team leader' is met with a satisfied grunt. "We've taken down six, including their inside man; which leaves us with eight bogeys still on the loose."

Chuck taps me on the shoulder and spots an unsure smile when I turn around to face him. "Not to interrupt, but... are you okay? You just got shot."

I smile a little, although the pain dulls it a bit. "Thank you for your concern, but don't worry. I've had worse." That those worse bits involved interdimensional travel and led to longer hospitalizations is a tidbit I deliberately keep quiet about. "Besides, the dress shirt took the brunt of the impact. It's amazing what spider silk can do."

Now both Sarah and Casey perk up at that. Should've known. Bulletproof vests made of spider silk were not even ready for prototyping (let alone shrinking such sophisticated technology to dress shirt format) back in my reality. Which is still four years in the future compared to here, mind you.

Four years... all the films I was excited for I know already... such a shame.

"We'll talk about that later," says Sarah and effectively ends the discussion. "You ready to go,..." she fades out the ending, apparently expecting me to fill in. Guess with me knowing them already, introductions were cut a little short. Gun shot might have done its part, but still. I was raised better than this.

"Gerthson," I fill in, "but you can call me Jonny. Everyone does."

"Great, now that we don't have to call you midget anymore, can we finally move on? My trigger finger's getting itchy," Casey grumbles.

"I'm not a midget, Colonel; but yeah, we can move on," I concede, after taking in the stare he gives me.

Trust me, we don't want Casey's trigger finger to be itchy.

##

After twenty long minutes, with the last masked man fallen victim to Casey's trigger finger, I finally allow myself to take a breath.

The hostages are not yet aware that their captors are not a threat anymore. Soon this will be a mass panic, when people are just trying to get out, away from the trauma they've just experienced.

"Where do you think you're going? You're coming with us," Sarah hisses when I turn to go see Castle.

I turn around and fix her with a stare, which she gives back in kind. She and Beckett should found a stare club. It's unnerving how easily those two women can make me almost piss my pants. What can I say, my strong bladder is presumably one of the few reasons I don't go through a dozen pants a year.

I hope that doesn't shine through when I break the stare contest after a few seconds by speaking up. "Listen, Agent Walker. If I don't check in with Mr. Castle, he will get worried. He will ask around and stuff his nose in things you don't want him to stuff his nose into. And trust me, he can get annoying pretty fast. He still has CIA contacts from his earlier books, believe it or not. _Or, _I could go talk to him, tell him I'm okay so he's not worried anymore. Then I call in the cavalry for clean up, and by that I mean the cavalry who is actually allowed to operate on U.S. soil, as in the police that is no doubt already waiting outside. That's where my contacts come in."

Three skeptic looks land on me, but I only roll my eyes. "Oh, come on, seriously? After I just help you tear through over a dozen hostiles? I may be only sixteen, but even I can be useful, from time to time. I use the information network that I've inherited to work as an informant for the NYPD. I know a few people, and if that isn't enough, they know even more people. I've got it covered."

Casey cannot hide the surprised look on his face fast enough (not like me and my smug grin I'd like to sport right now). "You're sixteen? Seriously? I thought you were in your mid-twenties."

I snort and cough slightly. No one likes to be told that you look old, not even 'teenagers'. "Yeah, I get that often, despite my unimpressive height. Guess I just have an old soul."

"Now, if you'd excuse me, I have got a black op to cover up," I quip with a laugh and make my way over to Castle fast to cover up my wince. I don't think I should laugh so much; my ribs are still hurting, despite the pain killers I've thrown in. Maybe even more than at the beginning.

Castle looks haggard. Understandable; who wouldn't, he just lived through a hostage drama with his teenage daughter.

I sneak up to him through the path I took when we parted ways.

"Castle," I hiss, only to be hit by an ear-splittingly high squeak that fortunately wasn't very loud.

It wasn't Alexis'.

Well, at least he didn't alert the other former hostages.

"Jonny, thank god you're back... Is everything alright?" he asks immediately, with a concerned look on his face. Stupid author, he just has to notice everything, doesn't he?

"Meh, bruised a rib or two. Should be just fine in a short while," I grunt, and ignore Alexis' shocked look. I could do with another paracetamol, to be honest. Here's hoping that Casey still has some in their base.

"Also, the bad guys are out of commission. I'm gonna call Beckett, so the SWAT team or the HRT or whoever is waiting outside can come in and save the day."

Alexis stares at me with wide eyes and then frowns. I don't know how, but it looks adorable on her. Or it would, if it weren't for her puffy red eyes - now it makes me sad. "But... _you_ did all this, why the SWAT team?"

I give both of them an amused smile. "Because I don't need to be recognized. For the rest of the world, I'm just another rich kid. And I have no intentions to do something about that. Information broker, remember?" I ask with a cheeky grin (still hurts. Ow). No sense adding to their distress at this point.

„Now, I'll leave you two alone, I still have to call Beckett. You are safe, nothing can happen to you anymore, okay?" I try to soothe them, but I don't think I'm doing a good job. Shite, I should really do something about my social skills. From IT engineer to spy, there's not much room left for that.

I pull out my phone and punch in Beckett's number.

„Gerthson, where are you?" Oh, it's back to Gerthson now. She has to be really pissed off if she resorts to calling me by my last name.

I should know better, but I still do my best to sound disinterested and bored. I have a reputation to uphold. „Inside. By the lack of pleasantries I assume you're outside. If so, send in the HRT, we're done here. This party sucks. Not enough food, too many unpleasant acquaintances."

„We haven't heard from the hostage takers, what's going on in there? Why aren't you whispering?" she asks.

„I'm afraid that could prove to be quite difficult for most of them, unless you have a reliable medium at hand. I've taken all of them out. I've kept them alive when I could, but unfortunately most of them thought it was a good idea to open fire on me once they had seen they were up against a teenager. Thank god they were kind enough to use silenced weapons, this way the hostages didn't panic when shots were fired. No hostages wounded, thankfully, or at least from what I've gathered. Didn't stick around for most of it."

„Alright, then. Sit tight, we're coming in."

„Thanks. I just have one request: let them make a show of it. Just... do it, okay? _Please_, I'll explain later. You'll think of something. You always do. Okay, bye!"

I cut off the line and close my eyes. Here's hoping.

##

I silently take my place with Castle again and watch the spectacle. A squad of helmeted men storm into the building, weapons at the ready, clad in black bulletproof vests. They fan out and search the perimeter; I can even hear a few shots being fired into the walls, or maybe even into the dead bodies. It's unlikely they will be examined by an ME who looks further than „yep, bullet hole, dead as they can be, next one". There are over a dozen corpses strewn about, if I recall correctly, and with the importance of the hostages (and the accompanying pressure to get results soon, preferably results that lead to a clean and shiny opened-and-closed case), we might just luck out.

I'm glad Beckett got through though. Already thought I'd look like an arse after my display for Team Bartowski. Still may be, but the odds are more in my favor right now. God knows I could use more better odds. Stupid ribs. Ow.

Speaking of the devil, a quite pissed detective enters through the front entrance. I feel my Adam's apple bob nervously when it only takes her eyes a few seconds to find our little group. She strides through the chaos to us, and to my surprise, she smiles when she gets in hearing range.

„Castle, Alexis, thank god you're okay," she says and hugs both briefly. The little shipper in me is silently squealing, but I think I manage to keep it from showing on my face. Then she turns to me with an irritated glare that softens after a moment. „And you... thank you for saving them," she concedes. It feels like a small victory to hear her say that, but also a pyrrhic one. I know there's more to it than that.

„May I speak with you for a moment, alone?" she asks, with a very subtle hint of ‚You are going to regret making me do this'. Oh, dear.

Beckett takes me to the little corridor where the paramedics are currently tending to the guy with the broken index fingers. I still wince just thinking about it; but hey, he lived, right?

She pushes me against the wall, maybe not exactly violent, but still with enough force to deny any objections. Then she jabs a sharp finger into my chest. Thankfully further up the ribs and not directly in the bruise.

„You better have one hell of an explanation why I just embarrassed myself in front of the assembled Hostage Rescue Team for you," she hisses. „Their team leader looked at me as if I lost my head when I told them to play make believe for the hostages. ‚We're not actors, detective,' he said. ‚Why don't you worry about doing your job while I do mine,' he said."

Ouch. I wince, and not because I'm in pain, for a change. While I really am happy that she helped me cover this up, I'm less happy with what happened out there.

„I had to call his boss and invoke all the favors I had with him _and _threaten to go over _his _head, too... And all this with the feeble excuse of ‚I have to uphold my informant's cover'!"

„Beckett... I had no idea... I'm sorry," I mumble and avert my gaze, but she is having none of that. She takes my face in her hand and turns it back to her; I can see the angry flames flickering behind her pupils.

„You don't get to just say sorry after a stunt like this. I want a full explanation, _now_."

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, and 'prepare my defense'. If there's one thing right now I need more than I have, it's confidence. „Imagine for a moment that the hostage rescue team does _not _pretend to take out the bad guys, but simply strolls in, which they could, because the hostage situation is over already. The hostages are still in shock, of course, but they can't fail to notice that the HRT would act differently if there were any real danger. Now, combine that with the hyena personality of most reporters that are waiting outside, and it would be a matter of minutes after the first interview that people start asking questions. Questions like, if the HRT didn't take them out, who did? The conspiracy theorists would jump on the Alphabet train and suspect NSA and CIA. The more reasonable ones will suspect that a guest is responsible for tearing up the bogeys. If they share this with the media, people will ask other, more detailed questions, and eventually, they'll connect the dots and come to me. And guess what? My anonymity is what kept me alive this past year. You making a fool out of yourself has literally saved my life."

Long monologue over, awaiting reaction.

The fire in Beckett's eyes has somewhat dimmed over the course of my explanation, but I can feel that I'm not completely off the hook yet, even though her face remains stoic.

"Tell me one good reason why I should keep you around as an informant," she growls.

Nope. Definitely not off the hook.

"Because... I deliver good intel?" I ask cautiously.

"I don't need that as badly as my dignity. Next try," she deadpans.

Shit. "Because... your boss tells you to?" If she wants me gone, I might as well go out with a bang.

The detective's eyes narrow dangerously, and I know she's trying to tell if I'm bluffing or not. Then her face lightens up a little and a smile is playing around her lips.

"You know what? That's a theory I'd like to put to the test."

Guess she's looking forward to see me wiggle my way out of that one. How fortunate that I have an ace up my sleeve that she doesn't know of.

Beckett's calling Captain Montgomery's number right now, and I take this moment of distraction to take a deep breath.

"Yes, sir. Beckett here... Yes, sir, the situation is defused. There is just a minor detail concerning the solution, it's about my informant, mister..."

I rip the phone out of her hands, which earns me a murderous glare by one pissed off detective. Before she can start her rant (or worse), I fix her with a glare myself and cover the cell's microphone with my hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? This is an unsecured line, detective. _Never_ use my real name over the phone in relation to work. Call me... Brother Nightingale, if you must." I snicker inwardly at the Dragon Age reference, but I don't think it shows. It would be most awkward if I did. The first game's not even out here.

She snatches her phone back from my hand and puts it to her ear again with an eye roll. "Yes, Captain. This is Beckett. It's about my informant... '_brother Nightingale'. _Yes, Captain. You know him, who else would give himself such a ridiculous name... I understand; of course, sir."

She offers me her phone, with a raised eyebrow. "Here. He wants to speak with you." I can hear her mumble a soft "This should be interesting..." before I bring the phone to my ear.

"Captain?"

A loud sigh comes from the other end. "Gotten yourself in trouble again, huh, kid? Why do you always have to antagonize my top detective?"

"I don't," I start to protest, "at least not intentionally... It's complicated, Sir."

That elicits a soft chuckle from Beckett's boss. "You can say that again, kid. Now, what's that I hear about a squabble with HRT?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. "I asked Beckett to let them make a show of storming the building so nobody would think to look for the one who disposed of the bad guys among the guests, and she's pissed because the HRT thinks she's crazy. Sir. You still remember the first time we met? I can't work my angle if people know who I am. Especially dangerous people."

The line is silent for a long moment. "Give me detective Beckett again, please."

I wordlessly stretch my arm out and Beckett grabs her phone with a suspicious look. "Yes, Sir?... Understood; I'll go talk to him immediately, Sir."

Am I off the hook?

She gives me an irritated look. "Montgomery told me to let you go; he will make a few phone calls to back me up with HRT."

Yep, I'm off the hook.

Then Beckett narrows her eyes again. "I don't know what kind of deal you have with the Captain, but we will talk about this later. Now go, I still have to talk with the HRT leader."

For now.

Now let's get ourselves arrested by the NSA and CIA, shall we?

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><p><strong>Also, it was declared by the Castle Ficathon team that a Crossover is fine as long as Castle characters play a major role in it. If you feel at any point that is not true anymore, <em>please let me know! <em>I think it's fine, and from what I've planned, there's a larger part revolving solely around Team Caskett, so I _think _I should be fine, but better safe than sorry, right? ;)**


	4. Intimate Theater

**Less than four thousand words to go! Final spurt! Only one week to go :)  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Revised word count (chapter): 2808<br>**

**Revised word count (total): 11213  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter four: Intimate Theater<strong>

When I walk out of the building, I'm met by a barrage of blinding, blinking lights, courtesy of a whole bunch of ambulances. I consider getting myself checked, but I turn away abruptly when I spot doctor Davidson among them. I have no idea what he of all people is doing here, but I am not in the mood for another lecture. Team Bartowski should be waiting around here somewhere anyway...

Ah. There's a taxi parking down the street, with its off-duty lamps on. And now it's flashing its lights. I suppose that is rather distinct.

Once I'm near, Casey growls from the driver's seat, through the open window. "Get in, moron." Huh, didn't know I missed being called that.

I refrain from commenting on his liberal use of the word and get into the car. Chuck is sitting on the passenger seat and Sarah is sitting by my side.

Bartowski turns around with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to bother you, but it's procedure."

"What is procedure?" I ask and turn to Sarah, but her face is completely blank. I wonder why, until I spot a gun in her hand. I feel a small prick in the side of my neck, and when my hand shoots up there, it pulls out a little dart with red feathers. Oh. Oh.

"Oh, come on, you can't be serious," I manage to groan out before everything turns black. I hate tranquilizers.

* * *

><p>Oh, god... I will never drink that much again... How much did I have at the party? Meh, doesn't matter anyway, I will probably never drink anything alcoholic ever again.<p>

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Wait... I'm sixteen here, I can't be that drunk. Then why am I hung over?

One eye open... nope. Not my room. Definitely not my room. Better close it again.

I remember bits and pieces of the party... oh. The robbery. I remember getting shot... yep, now that I think of it, the pain in my ribs is definitely real.

Other eye open... yep. Team Bartowski is still real, too. Casey and Sarah are sitting at the table, across from me, two manila folders in front of them on the table. My hands are cuffed to a solid ring in the equally solid metal table, and I'd guess the table is bolted to the floor.

Better not leave them waiting then, right? I open the closed eye again, too and rub the heels of my hands against my eyes to get the worst remnants of the twilight dart out (fancy name for horse tranquilizer, if you ask me), or at least as good as I can with my cuffed hands.

I take in the room I'm sitting in, but that doesn't take long. Not necessarily because I have a keen perception, but because there's not much in it. It's almost two times as big as the holding cell I spent a night in a year ago. The gray walls are empty, safe for a door behind me (probably locked, anyway) and a two-way mirror behind Casey and Sarah (probably with Chuck behind it). A naked light bulb illuminates the room, but the corners are still coated in darkness.

"Coated in darkness", that's awfully poetic for a guy handcuffed to a table in an undisclosed site who's about to be interrogated by two of America's deadliest spies alive, and tries to lie to them because he has a computer in his head that's supposed to be super secret and the only known human host is protected by those two.

If I put it like that... what rhymes with "I'm screwed"?

Me, apparently.

Well, not really, but you get the idea.

"Let's start with the easy things. Who are you?" Sarah asks.

Do I really want to play the smart ass with those two? They could easily kill me and leave me in a ditch face down... Argh, I really hate my imagination sometimes. Now I'm mad. And when I'm mad, I make bad decisions. As in, I'll play the smart ass. I'm tired of assuming the worst; besides, maybe my youthful adorableness will save me, should it really come to blows.

Having decided on the cocky approach, I raise my eyebrows and smile slightly. "That's an awfully loaded question, don't you think?... But I think I get what you mean; my name is Jonny Gerthson, and despite what you might think, that's actually my real name." That in turn elicits raised eyebrows from both Sarah and Casey. Which of course means they don't believe me. Great.

But since I'm already in a talkative mood, I might as well go on about me. It's one of my favorite subjects, anyway. "To the untrained eye, I might seem like a real life Bruce Wayne. I'm ridiculously rich, I have... had a butler, my parents are dead, and I have a crime fighting alter ego. But thank god without the costume, but sadly also without the gadgets." Casey grunts (I assume in annoyance at the comic book reference) and Sarah, who has spent enough time around Chuck, lets out a small smile that she surely wishes she would have held in.

I choose to stay silent about that little slip up for once and continue with my story. "About a little more than a year ago, I came into possession of what turned out to be an information network. Or a spy network, if you want. It was some weird succession thing, with inheritance and all that stuff. Apparently, my predecessor was not as noble-minded as I aspired to be, so I stopped selling information to the highest bidder. Then one fateful day, I visited a party that changed my life. You might have already guessed, the host was yours truly Richard Castle."

As expected, the proverbial light bulbs go on over their head when they make the connection. No one ever said they were stupid.

"The next day, I get a visit by the police to interrogate me about the murder of a known terrorist who also visited the party; as it turned out, he was killed by my very own butler. Then I was accused of being involved in this murder, as well as another murder my network had brought me info on. I cut a deal, and work as an informant for the NYPD ever since, starting by bringing my butler to justice. Which ended with me having to kill my butler in a sword fight after tranquilizing a whole SWAT team he had drugged and then sicked on us."

Sarah Walker seems surprisingly amused, and Casey looks like he just barely holds himself back from talking shop. I suppose the image of the well informed kid with too much money on his hands is quickly falling apart.

"Now, about a year after that, I go to my next party, it's hosted by Castle again, and surprise, surprise, robbers pop up. Not to forget you folks... while we're at it... why were you at the party? It's of course totally a coincidence that you showed up at the party where these wannabe robbers show up," I snark and try to cross my arms, only to be painfully reminded that I'm still handcuffed to the table.

"I don't know, they seemed like pretty normal robbers to me; probably coincidence," Casey says with a fake, toothy smile.

I roll my eyes. They can do better. Of course they'd want me to give up my hand before letting anything slip themselves, if at all. "Oh, come on, seriously? How stupid do you think I am?... Wait, don't answer that, it would probably involve the word moron. Fine, if you want to know what I know, here you go. These robbers weren't normal robbers. They could've left with jewelry and stuff mere minutes after entering the place."

I pause to gather my stray thoughts. I went through most of this already with Castle, but I don't want to look like an idiot, so I better be on my A game. "Yet, they stayed. What did they want instead, you may wonder. They didn't seek to get out ransom demands, so they couldn't be there for the ransom money, either. They seemed to patrol the hostages, as if they were looking for someone, but they would've either left with the hostage they were looking for or killed the hostage on the spot, depending on what they had in mind. They had more than enough time to sift through all the hostages, but they didn't find him or her. How am I doing so far?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

Sarah seems happy to leave the main discussion to Casey; she probably wants to size me up and analyze the threat I pose. Knowing of the team's existence has probably brought me into the orange zone already.

Casey however is enjoying this way too much for my liking. Either he has taken a liking to me, which I seriously doubt, or something's bound to be happen that either involves guns or torture. Or both.

He gives me a small smile, this time a little more genuine than last time. "Not half bad, kid. Care to go on?" he asks.

"The fact that they didn't find who they were looking for means they thought they knew for sure he or she would be there... not much sense in staging a robbery on a hunch, right? Is there a guest list, maybe?" I ask.

Sarah and Casey share a look, but I'm not too sure what to make of it. It doesn't look too bad, though.

This time, it's Sarah who opts to answer. "Yes, indeed. We already compared the guest list with video footage of the entrance. There are only a few guests on that list who didn't show up at the party, but one stood out."

She shoves the first folder over the table that I open, finding said guest list. A few names are marked with an X at the side, but only one is highlighted in yellow.

_Kate Beckett, NYPD_

Oh. _Shit._ That's... _bad_.

My expression seems to convey what I think, because Casey digs right into the wound. "Seems you know a few people who might want to see her dead."

I shake my head out of the stupor I'm in and tear my gaze from the list. "Yeah... I mean, of course she has the usual criminals who want revenge for their arrest, but none of them would go to these lengths, even if they had the means to do so. I have a suspicion, but I have to go back in time a little for that. The reason why Kate Beckett became a cop instead of a lawyer like her parents is her mom's murder. She was killed when Beckett was nineteen years old. Cops said it was random gang violence. Of course that wasn't true. Johanna Beckett's murder has accompanied Kate for years. She was obsessed with it, determined to find her mother's killer."

I pause to let it sink in. "She really went into a rabbit hole with that case. Eventually, her captain sent her to a shrink, and only then did she realize that it would destroy her if she continued to pursue her mother's case, so she let it go. Recently, however, there has been development in the case; Castle connected three other murders around the time with Johanna Beckett's case. The MO is always the same; the first strike is a low-angle thrust to the kidney, twisting the knife before pulling it out again. The victim's body goes into immediate shock. Then the killer stabs the victim a dozen times all over the body to cover up that lethal first blow. All this can only mean that it was a professional hit."

Casey lets out a dangerous growl, and his face twists into an angered snarl. "Single thrust to the kidney. I know this method. It's primarily used by Special Forces, and rarely somewhere else. Usually because it's hard to pull off. You have to be very precise to hit the kidney like that. The guy's a pro. And to think he once wore the uniform..."

Sarah gives him a sideways glance and shrugs her shoulders. "Doesn't have to be a guy. I could pull that off, too."

Casey huffs a laugh, and I knock softly on the table to gain their attention again. "As terrifying and somehow also cool that is, you didn't have me recount her story just for show, did you? For you NSA, CIA guys, this is pretty much public knowledge... Okay, now you're just having me on. I know of your team, I know Casey's rank, what in the world made you think I wouldn't know what alphabet agency you're working for? Okay, Bartowski I don't know, but you two couldn't be more obvious. Seriously."

I'm met with silence. And glares. "Anyway. Said contract killer had to be hired by someone. Considering that Johanna Beckett was a lawyer, it's practically a given that her death is in relation to her work. As you probably know From what I know of her last case, the person behind all this had to be related to law enforcement back then and has to be a political bigwig up in D.C. by now. Now, I gave you what you wanted, willingly. Now how about you tell me why you were at the party, for real?"

Again they share a look, but they are significantly harder to read than Beckett and Esposito. Damn spy training. I used to watch that one show that basically revolved around identifying emotions (and in logical conclusion, lies) with the help of micro expressions. Surprisingly enough, the science behind it is real; I even read a book about it.

The best thing about it? You can't control these micro expressions. Even spies have them, although with spies (and especially good ones like the two across the table) it's hard to read them. When you see embarrassment on a normal person's face while they tell you something, it's a good guess they are lying to you. A notorious liar however may not show embarrassment anymore. That's what makes it so hard to read spies. They are basically trained to be notorious liars.

The second manila folder gets shoved over the tabletop. I open it up and stare into the familiar face of Senator Bracken. I search their faces for any clues, but there's nothing to be read. I have to wait for Casey to speak up, telling me a story I mostly know by heart by now.

What I didn't anticipate is that his name said out loud triggers a flash, telling me what Casey is about to in... well, a flash. Temporally spoken. I try to hide it, and to my pleasant surprise, neither Casey nor Sarah seem to have noticed anything.

"Our analysts in Langley came to the same conclusion. There aren't many people in powerful positions that fit that profile. Senator William Bracken is who they came up with."

I'm totally off the roll here. What is going on? That's information of the "gets you killed for knowing it" category.

"If I may ask a question... why are you telling me all this?"

Another look is exchanged. Sarah speaks up. "After seeing you in action, and trusting Agent Carmichael's assessment of your character, we have chosen to recruit you for our cause." What?! I think my brain needs a reboot. I think I just heard they want me on their team? I have a hard time keeping my jaw from falling on the table, but I think my eyes must be starting to glaze over, because Sarah chuckles softly before continuing.

"Operatives have been dispatched to clear the necessary paperwork with your legal guardians." And no doubt getting a high level security check done.

"Oh, and the information we gave you?" Casey pitches in with a smirk. "That's just a little insurance for us. Betray us, and we can put you in Leavenworth for treason. Heard it's really cozy in Supermax."

Great. What's next, electronic ankle bracelet?

The door gets ripped open and Chuck storms in with wide eyes and a laptop under his arm.

"I didn't know for sure, but the cameras caught it. It's just a split second, but I know what to look for," he rattles down breathlessly.

Don't say it, don't say it...

"What's going on, Chuck? I thought we told you to stay in the other room," Sarah says, tensing up.

Don't you dare say it.

"He has an Intersect."

Within a second I'm staring in two guns that are trained on my head, and I try to raise my hands as far as I can with handcuffs on, sporting a somewhat sheepish smile.

Well... shit.


	5. I hate Tranquilizers

**Revised word count (chapter): 2403 words**

**Revised word count (total): 13616 words**

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><p><strong>Chapter five: I hate Tranquilizers<strong>

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head right now," Casey growls.

"Because you want to know how I got an Intersect, what it can do, and why it is better than what he has in his head?" I ask and point at Chuck with my chin.

Can anyone tell me how I'm not freaking out right now? Well, to the outside at least. I totally forgot they have an Intersect on their own behind the two-way mirror, and apparently equipped with cameras so he caught my flash on Senator Bracken. I'm out of expletives strong enough for this situation.

"What are you talking about?! Okay, guys, and girl, that's enough. We can talk about that when we all cooled our tempers," Chuck says and steps forward to lower their weapons. Sarah's gun stays down, but Casey doesn't think of it, brings his back up and just growls out his anger while he throws Bartowski a sideways glare.

The blonde spy rolls her eyes. "Ugh, just don't kill him, okay?" Casey grunts, obviously disappointed, but finally lowers his gun, too, after a few very long seconds in which my bladder is put to a very tough test.

He stows it at his side, only to quickly pull another from behind his back and fire at me in one fluid motion.

"Glad she didn't say anything about shooting you," he quips with a crooked smirk and a wink. "See you tomorrow, Sleeping Beauty."

I don't even get to pull out the twilight dart this time around, and to add insult to injury, my glare I try to give him falls short as my face muscles suddenly relax, thanks to the second dose of horse tranquilizer in, like, five minutes awake time. Did I mention that I hate tranquilizers?

* * *

><p>Ugh...<p>

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Where am I? Open one eye after another, I realize I'm not at the party anymore... Neither am I in that shabby interrogation room, although I'm still in shackles. Instead I'm in an six by eight cell with a glass front instead of normal steel bars. Huh. Didn't think every CIA/NSA safe house was equipped with those high tech 'detainment units'.

To my surprise, I find Chuck sitting in front of the glass.

"Hey there. Good to see you're awake. Those twilight darts pack a punch, right?" he asks with a small smile on his lips.

"Tell me something I don't know," I groan and press my forehead against the glass, enjoying the short reprieve of my headache the sudden coolness of the glass grants me.

"I wouldn't know what to tell you, since you know more than you let on," he quips lightly, but the strain in his voice tells me he's borderline freaking out. Not that I could hold it against him. After years of being the only Intersect host, finding out a sixteen-year-old has one, too... Well, suffice to say, I don't think I would even be able to _look_ so calm and collected.

"Do Walker and Casey know you're talking to me? Things must be looking bad for me."

Chuck snorts a laugh. "That's the understatement of the year. They already briefed our boss, and they contemplate leaving you here, throwing away the key to this place, and then level it with an air strike."

"That would be indeed an unfortunate turn of events," I quip. "Although, I think they'd make a grave mistake doing that." Heh, 'grave'. Pun not intended, though. "Not just because I very much enjoy living, but considering I managed to build an Intersect on my own, I could bring invaluable know-how to the Intersect Project."

If he opens his eyes a little bit wider, they'd be threatening to fall out. "_On your own?_ At sixteen?"

"Well, not entirely," I admit with a shrug. Time to let out the inner nerd. "My... 'predecessor', if you will, obtained a very early design for the Intersect, back from the nineties. However, I brought it up to modern standards, or at least as best as I could. While I do consider myself well-connected, I don't have government resources, after all. And by that I also mean sensitive material to feed into the Intersect, just for clarification. All my changes were in the software part. In addition to the design itself, the 'package' contained a black box compiler, to convert C code into Intersect-compatible data. The data is encoded in movie snippets where certain pixels are faulty. They build an intricate pattern, but your brain must be able to see more pictures per second than most humans are able. Flies for example would have no problem seeing the data, but their brain would still be cooked in a matter of seconds. Now that I think of it, that's a very devious and awesomely overkill method to purge a room of flies."

Nothing of what I just told him was true. Well, maybe except for the part with the flies.

May I present to you: Jonny Gerthson, M. Sci. in bullshittery.

"Anyway, before this talk gets too technical, you certainly came here for answers, right?" Chuck only nods, still a little... flashed... by what he just heard. My, but I really am on a roll here.

"Mr. Bartowski..." I start, only to be absent-mindedly interrupted. "It's Chuck... if you call me Mr. Bartowski, I want to turn around and look for my father," he says with a wry smile.

"Chuck," I start again, "let's get the obvious questions out of the way, so that I may focus on averting the air strike sooner. The reason why I was able to discover your team's existence is that my Intersect has an advanced problem solution algorithm that uses the brain's already existing neuronal pathways to make meta-connections. Not quite like new synapses, but close enough. I triangulated your position from missions you were rumored to have taken part in. That gave me the general area." He seems a little skeptical at that; I don't fault him, it's a lie after all. Damn, I really do tell a lot of these lately, don't I? Well, better than to be burnt at the stake or getting experimented on.

"Then I looked through energy consumption records, because a base needs electricity, right? Then I compared that to the plat of the area, and sifted through the anomalies. Once I knew where to look, it was a child's play to find out where your base was. As the base was beneath a shopping complex, not a residential area, it was actually easier to find you. Instead of a place where you could live anonymously, paying your landlord in cash and be done with it, all I had to do was to hacking into the employee records of the businesses around the plaza, and boom, hello there, Stanford graduate working at the Nerd Herd," I quip with a smirk, although I don't really feel like it. Pending air strike and all.

Chuck gives me an musing smile and a raised eyebrow. "That's quite the impressive feat." He pauses to look down on his watch. "However, our little talk is coming to an end, unfortunately. Or rather, mostly monologue, come to think of it; nonetheless, it has proven to be very enlightening. Casey will be here any minute to pick you up, you are to be presented to our boss. I think she knows what she's going to do with you."

I gulp loudly and start slowly waving my hand like a jedi. "This is not the Intersect you're looking for?" I try meekly.

That actually gets a genuine grin and a short laugh out of Chuck. "Nice try, pal. See you in a few!"

* * *

><p>Casey manhandles me through the door and plops me down in a seat.<p>

"How nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Gerthson." The face of General Diane Beckman stares down at me from the big screen at the wall. This redhead's disapproving look can break anyone. Even such a hardass like Casey.

I shrug. "Sorry for being late, I was inconvenienced earlier, and the taxi service is not the best, either."

The generals sends me a scathing glare, and Casey slaps me on the back of the head.

"Ow! Fine, sorry," I grumble, "being a wise-ass is a coping mechanism for me, no need for further head-slaps."

"Your honesty is appreciated. Now, after conferring with my analysts and advisers, we've come to a decision regarding your... special circumstances. While we do not believe you to be a threat to national security by yourself, your extensive knowledge of the Intersect program might very well prove to be dangerous to you, and in extension Mr. Bartowski and his team, should anyone ever find out about you." Beckman lets out a heavy sigh. "Therefore, you are to remain in protective custody until further notice."

I glance around the room, but they all avert their eyes. "What does that mean, exactly: 'protective custody'?"

"It means you get a nice, cozy bunker, kid," Casey grunts from behind.

"I'm afraid Colonel Casey is correct, Mr. Gerthson. There is just no alternative at the moment; I'm sorry."

"I... I understand, General," I bring out. Damn it, damn it, _damn it_... Beckett's gonna be pissed... most women I know in this universe are either easy to piss off, scary when pissed off, or most frequently both.

"General, if I may..." Chuck says and raises his hand.

Beckman gives him a curious look. "Yes, Chuck?"

"There might be an alternative, I believe. How many people know of him, General?"

"Everything? Just the people in this briefing. We can't be too cautious with the Ring. Everyone else was consulted on a hypothetical basis, disguised as a simulation game. Why?" she asks.

"What if we add him to the team? He has invaluable knowledge about the Intersect's design, and he has an Intersect himself. Don't get me wrong, I would never want to replace Sarah or Casey on the team, they're my friends and save my life on a daily basis, and I will be forever grateful for that, and I also know that I can talk to them. But Jonny here? He knows what it's like to have a giant computer force-fed to his brain. I could use someone I could talk to who understands me."

What the heck are you doing, Chuck?... I mean, please go on.

He gives me an unsure look over his shoulder, as if he has heard me thinking before continuing. "Not to mention that we all saw him in action at the charity event in New York. He took the initiative and went after over a dozen heavily armed men while being unarmed himself when nobody else did, got shot, then teamed up with us, got the job done, and fabricated a cover story officially sanctioned by the NYPD without giving away our involvement. He also informed us on a potential security issue when he told us how he found out about our team. He doesn't deserve to rot in some bunker to be kept safe. His potential is being used best out in the field, with us, should we need the assistance. If for nothing else, see it as a personal favor."

The general's eyes drill into Chuck, probably to find out where the sudden swing came from, but obviously doesn't come to a satisfying answer. Then her gaze shifts to the blonde superspy next to Chuck.

"Agent Walker, do you share this sentiment?"

She stays silent for a few seconds before finally opening her mouth. "His combat ability and sharp mind are beyond reproach." Why, thank you so much, Ms Walker. That's very nice of you to say.

She turns around to give me a short icy stare as she says that. "Although his loyalty is still questionable, I defer to Chuck's judgment in this matter. If he thinks Gerthson can be trusted, then I support his decision."

Another heavy (and probably exasperated) sigh from the General. "Very well, Chuck. Nonetheless, be warned. Should he go rogue, he becomes your problem. Jonny Gerthson, I hereby offer you a place on Team Bartowski."

I turn to the side to look at Casey with open mouth. I honestly didn't expect that. "Hey, Casey; mind pinching me? I can't tell if I'm dreaming or not...very well, shutting up." I say and turn back around to face General Beckman when I see his all too eager grin. That would not have been healthy for my arm, probably. "I accept your offer, General," I say with a short, polite bow.

"Of course you'll have to undergo a rigorous background screening and other security checks to ensure you really are who you seem to be. In the meantime, our technicians will be setting up your secure communication equipment in your apartment in New York."

I raise an eyebrow. "Wow; I knew you guys were efficient, but I didn't know you'd be that good."

Beckman's mouth thins to a line, but one side goes slightly up. I guess that's supposed to be a smile? "You'd be surprised what the NSA can achieve in a few hours."

"A few hours?" I ask and furrow my brow. Now I'm confused. "The traffic is bad in New York, but I don't need a few hours to get to my apartment, even if I go by foot or take the subway."

Casey snorts loudly and grins at me when I turn my head to him. "Sorry to disappoint, kid; you currently are at the west coast. In the base you found out about, by the way."

"I assume you can oversee the rest of the briefing, Colonel Casey. Beckman out."

With that last message, the redhead pushes a button and the screen fades to black, while I finally turn around to Casey.

"Now you just wait a diddly darn second, I'm in _Burbank, California?!_ How long was I out?!"

"Obviously long enough to get you on a plane and fly you from New York to Burbank," Casey snorts. He's in a good mood today, there are more snorts and grunts than growls.

"Well, now what?" I ask and shrug my shoulder.

"Casey probably won't be, but I am really sorry. It's procedure," Chuck says with an apologetic smile.

"Oh, no, not again..."

And again, everything fades to black. I _hate_ tranquilizers.

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter completely back to Castle :)<strong>


	6. Good News?

**"A scheduled task always takes up all the time allotted for it." - Story of me being an author. On the second-to-last day, I finally cracked the word goal! Booyah! :3 Also, second Castle Ficathon victory in a row! *dances happily around my laptop* Thanks for all the lovely pompoms you've been waving for me :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Revised word count (chapter): 1515 words<strong>

**Revised word count (total): 15131 words !111!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter six: Good news?<strong>

I'm torn from my artificially induced slumber when my head is drenched in ice cold water, making me jump from... a sofa?

"Hi there, Sleeping Beauty," Andrew singsong-shouts with a grin.

Sometimes, my life feels like a messed up version of Groundhog Day.

"Shut up, or piss off, preferably both; my head is killing me," I groan.

"Serves you right," Zoe / Cassandra grumbles from the side. "We heard from Beckett that you were in that hostage drama and thought you'd come back immediately. Imagine our surprise when we suddenly got an alarm that you left New York, and only half an hour later, we had government agents knocking on our door telling us you won a visit to a summer camp called 'Kamp Woody' for your 'exceptional school performance'."

I frown at the two of them and ignore the icy droplets of water slowly dripping from my forehead. "You have a tracker on me?"

"_So _not the point, Gerthson!" my fake aunt growls with an angry fire burning in her eyes. Remember what I said about the women in my life? Yeah...

"Wait, do you guys know what happened, like, at all?"

As I'm met with two almost identical frowns, I let out a soft sigh. "I guess that's a no then. Are you aware of my Intersect's origin?"

Zoe shakes her head, but Andrew raises an eyebrow. _Right, he was there when I got mine._

"Yeah, it's the fixed version of the Intersect from the Chuck universe. What does it have to do with what happened at Castle's party?"

"Well... suffice to say I'm not the only Intersect in this universe anymore."

"What?!" "What." Two voices overlapping to a single word, one with only slightly more force than a breath, and one shouted, both in absolute shock and disbelief.

"While tearing the bad guys a new one, I stumbled upon Team Bartowski, occupied with doing pretty much the same thing as I did. I may or may not have let slip some things I shouldn't have known and, _bam_..."

With that, I start recounting the whole story, as clear as my tranquilizer-induced haziness allows.

* * *

><p>"... and now I am employed by the National Security Agency, working with the only other working Intersect in the Universe. Well, in this one, at least."<p>

"Well... shit," Zoe says and combs through her short, black hair with one hand.

Andrew snorts. "That's putting it lightly." Even his sarcasm seems strained.

Honestly, they are taking it way better than I expected. Although it seems that the weather has taken offense, it's starting to brew up one hell of a storm.

"I have to confer with my bosses. This is unprecedented. Another reality crossing over into this one... I haven't even heard of this. This is crazy." She starts pacing in the living room, in front of the sofa I'm sitting on.

"I think it's best if you hold your feet still," she says finally. "We don't know what were dealing with. You still have a job to do; whatever is happening, as long as we don't know what it is, you'll do squat in this investigation. We can't risk you getting hurt or worse. "

I want to start to protest, but my cell phone decides now is the perfect time to ring.

"Gerthson?" I snap into the phone.

"Heeey, it's Castle," the familiar, cheery voice says from the other end, seemingly oblivious to my mood. "Glad I could get a hold on you. I called a few times, but you never picked up."

"Yeah, my batteries died. I'm sorry, was there something I can do for you, Castle?" I answer distractedly.

"I was just wondering, as the charity event went down the drain, so to speak... do you have time for dinner this evening? It's the least we can do."

A small smile fleets over my lips. Dinner with the Castle family... "Sounds awesome." And it's true. After all that has happened those last few days, a little get-together with friends might just be what I need.

"Perfect! Just be here in half an hour, and we take care of the rest, okay?" he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Alright; see you this evening," I say and press the call away. I grin as I look up at my fake aunt and uncle. "Something positive, at last: I'm invited for dinner over at Castle's."

Zoe tries to hide a smirk behind a fist, but to no avail. "That's nice. I think it'll be a good way to take your mind off things. We won't mind, it prevents you from meddling in our investigation," she tells me with a wink.

I think there's more to it than that, but I keep my silence for the time being. No need for further antagonizing her. Or getting embarrassed. Maybe both. You never know with her.

I give them a curt nod and turn to start getting dressed.

Opening the door to my walk-in wardrobe with a smile, I let my eyes roam over the shelves filled with so many _nice _things... one of the few luxuries I really, really, _really_ liked about getting rich.

Hey, I'm living a dangerous life, I'm allowed a few vices, okay? Even shopping...

Still, gotta go with the classics here. Let's see... ah. There we go. Grey jeans, check. Black turtleneck, check. Grey tweed jacket, check. I don the precious pieces in record time and rush out of the door, throwing a hasty goodbye over my shoulder.

A glance at my watch confirms that it's a little late for a walk, and it would be better to take a cab - and a glance out of the building's front door once I'm off the elevator confirms that the weather doesn't disagree with that. There's again such a big-ass storm coming up, just like before the charity event. I like rain. I like snow. But I do hate me some storm. Especially when it's getting colder.

Anyway, the doorman hails a cab for me, I sprint to get in under the rain and tell the driver Castle's address as I let myself fall onto the backseat.

* * *

><p>Having paid the cabbie, I make my way into the building.<p>

"Ah, Mr. Gerthson! Mr. Castle has already called ahead. So nice to see you again," the doorman says as he holds open the door for me. I guess he has seen me the evening of our glorious laser tag match with Alexis. Good memory, I give him that.

Thanking him with a small smile and a nod, I enter and walk through to the elevators, pushing the button for the highest floor. I grimace as I wipe the remnants of the ugly weather off my jacket - rain is not the best for the lining - but I have to bite back a snicker when the elevator music starts with yet another rendition of "The Boy from Ipanema".

The doors open with a soft ding, revealing a grinning Richard Castle at the door. A random thought fleeting through my brain whispers that the doorman has probably announced my arrival, but I push it back. This is not the time.

"Hey, Jonny. I'm glad you could make it," he says and invites me in with a grand flourish. He does take a little after his mother.

"I'm glad you invited me - you saved me from a serious tongue-lashing by my aunt and uncle," I quip. "Aw, don't be like that, I also enjoy your family's company," I add with a laugh when he grips his chest in mockery.

He shuffles me further into the loft, but I think I hear him mutter something along the lines of, "But not too much, I hope." Figures. Dads.

"_SURPRISE!"_

I flinch at the loud noise, just a little bit. When I open my eyes again, I see the living room filled with the Castle family and the homicide division family, all spotting smiles on their faces. Martha, Alexis, Beckett, Montgomery, Ryan, Esposito, Lanie... they are all here...

"Eh... hi?" I say, and wave a little shyly, because, honestly, I have no idea what the flying fricklefreckle is going on.

Castle puts his hand on my shoulder. That sneaky little rascal knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Well, I thought that it was not fair that you risked your life at the charity event to save us all and the HRT gets all the praise." I want to interrupt, but he knows that and just keeps talking. "And while, yes, I do know and understand the reasons why you insisted on it, Beckett blabbed, by the way, you deserve to get a little recognition for what you've done for us. As it happens, the team at the precinct shares that opinion, but we all know you don't. Hence, the surprise party. There is dinner, just with the extended Castle family," he ends with a smile.

Gah. I hate surprises.

"Fine. But if you start singing songs about me, I'm out of here. That's where I draw the line."


End file.
